2 days ago I had emergency surgery. I’ve had it before and I am going to have it again. It is a reminder that life is to be lived and pain is bittersweet. It is also a reminder of mortality.
Since I was ten I have been a fan of Edgar Allan Poe. In grade school I used to commit his shorter works to memory and I can still recite ‘Eldorado’ effortlessly. My favorite of his works has been ‘Masque of the Red Death’ since I discovered it in the 80’s.
The plague, known as the red death, is sweeping through the land. Prince Prospero invites some of his regal friends to his abbey to hide from it. They host a masquerade in the luxurious abbey containing seven rooms, each with a different color and meaning.
As an ebony clock ticks away the moments in the black room, the red death enters the abbey. The black clock is one of the reasons why I collect watches. The clock symbolizes so much. The color is death. As each room reminds us of the stages of life, the clock’s chimes are a constant reminder of the passing of time, like the beating of a heart. Each time the clock chimes, it gives the reader a sense of vulnerability and reminds us that life is fleeting. Each tick is the passage of time and the inevitability of death and ultimately the final judgement between Prince Prospero and the Red Death.
Tick Tick Tock
The first tick was on Wednesday. I felt a familiar symptom. I knew what it was but I was hoping to be wrong. The next tick was on Thursday. There could be little denying the pain and it would not be ignored, but I ignored it anyway. Tock went the clock of life on Friday as I took the day off and rested my body. On Saturday I felt the clock chime in my body. It would not be ignored and the last time I dealt with this I made it worse by waiting too long and found myself whisked away in an ambulance unable to walk.
As my shift ended I knew what I was needed and I was going to face it on my terms this time. But I needed to prepare. After work, in a lot of pain, I drove 30 miles to my adult child’s apartment. Each flash of pain was a tick of the clock but I needed to revel in a moment or two with my child.
We sat for awhile and we talked about work, love, and life. I made sure my child knew how proud of them I was in the things they have overcome and the work that they do for others on the front lines of domestic violence and sexual assault. I needed Harvey to know that they are loved and have a conversation as peers bonded in love. Then I told them what I dealing with and what I had to do. Harvey was my ride home the last time and is one of a few on the inside track of my life. My child knows the path.
I drove home with love balancing the pain with every tick of the clock’s hand as it marches towards midnight and I can feel the uninvited guest of my life in the next room. On Sunday I was supposed to go to Chicago’s Printer’s row where I was to network with authors, publishers, and editors. This opportunity would not come again for a year and by then and my next book would already be released.
Could I endure this until Monday? I could…maybe. But last time I let the clock go too long before leaving the room and I almost ran out of time. A bad situation was made worse and this was not getting any better. It would not wait unless I wanted the skull and crossed bones tattoo and my watch that reminds me of the truth that is momento mori to be a swifter reality as opposed to a reminder of what is to come.
The ER VIP
Love drove me to the hospital. It took effort to get out of the car and as I did I knew what was about to happen. I had a cigarette and took a few deep breaths in the parking lot. When it was done I entered with purpose and with calm.
I walked to the front desk and told the woman calmly what I knew was happening. There were others in the waiting room of my personal masquerade. They did not matter. I would move into the next room before any of them did.
The woman placed a wristband with my information on it and, like a VIP in the 70’s rolling up to Studio 54, she moved the velvet rope aside and a nurse was taking my vitals and moved me to another room.
Within minutes the doctor came in. I gave him the reader’s digest version of what I was dealing with. I chose this hospital as opposed to the one closest to my home on purpose. There was a higher chance I would have someone that would not only listen, but understand and know what to do.
He listened, he understood, and he knew what to do. He told me a nurse was coming in to give me some morphine as they prepared for surgery. There was, as expected, not going to be general anesthesia. For some procedures it is not needed. For others, it is not viable even though it would be preferred. This was the latter.
A doctor came in and administered as much local into the area he was going to operate on. He advised me that they were going to be going deeper than then last time and I was still going to feel it. I assured him that I knew and promised I would be still. The morphine was a great ride and emotionally I was ready for the pain.
It was far more painful than the last time. I stared at my watch while I screamed in pain sometimes and kept my focus on remaining still. Every so often he apologized and I could tell something like this on someone awake was not something he was comfortable doing despite his years of experience. “This ain’t on you, brother,” I said through grit teeth.
The seconds and the minutes went by on my watch and it was over. The relief was mixed with a wave of nausea from the pain and the sight of blood from the clean up as the dressing was applied.
The pain was worse than what I felt before the surgery, but this pain was going to ebb away over the next week, the other pain was just going to get worse and, like Prince Prospero, I would have had to face the uninvited guest of the masquerade in the final room.
We’re going to meet one day, but this day I moved to another room escorted by people who love me, a skilled physician, and a divine nurse carrying morphine that provided a hell of a ride.
Why I Write at the Pace I Do
I’m not a fan of musicals. I prefer the sophistication and nuance of the opera. I will not step on the toes of those who love musicals, but for me, it is too surface and I will never forgive My Fair Lady for changing the poignant ending of Pygmalion. Earlier this year I finally saw Hamilton. There is a song called non stop and it made me choke up and cry. I got the character. Hamilton and the singers are commenting on how fast he can write and how it is non stop and why. The why is what drives my why.
“Why do you write like you’re running out of time?
Write day and night like you’re running out of time
Every day you fight like you’re running out of time
Keep on fighting, in the meantime
Non-stop!”
Between the first draft of the book, this project called Gen X Watch, and some other things I do under a pen name, I hammer out at least 12,000 words a week. Why? Because I am aware of the fact I am moving from room to room. And while I am having as much fun as I can in the masquerade, I know the clock is ticking and death and I will have our final meeting.
Christmas day of last year a dear friend died suddenly. There are things I want to do that I never will do, but I desperately need my stories, my thoughts, and my words to inspire and change as many as I can in the time I have left.
When I was 20 my grandmother once commented that I must be alive for a reason because she cannot fathom how I have survived what I have. I was 20. I am now 54 and aware of the final act, the final room. Every so often the ebony clock chimes and another party goer in the abbey of my heart succumbs to the bastard adorned in the macabre masque.
A quick note. I do not say what brings me in to the ER and I won’t. I tire of people with Doctor Google Degrees. Like anyone with a diagnosis, they usually know more about what they deal with than you do and tire of the pontifications, they just want to live their life in the moment.
Dominion Over All
I already know another surgery is in my near future. A more intensive one with a longer recovery time so as not to have this moment with the frequency I am having it. A little more time. Time to love, be here now, and to keep writing. And that is what I do.
I am grateful to you for reading and for sharing. I know the end sucks, but for now, let’s keep on fighting and have a little fun while we do. Do not let the clock just serve as a reminder of what is to come, but also to remind us that we have now. Now is the time to love someone, to make a difference, and to be alive.
One day we will all face the truth that Poe remind us of.
“And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revelers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.”
I’ve more to say, but I can only go so long without a pain killer.
Stay totally awesome! Stay true to you!
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